SLEEPY HOLLOW - Shirt Happens (Based on fox Tv 2013 series)
by bardvahalla
Summary: SLEEPY HOLLOW (Fox TV) Season One - Ichabod, wired on caffeine, sneaks out of his motel to find foodstuffs and clean unmentionables.


Shirt Happens

Sleepy Hollow (FoxTV2013). General

_Ichabod, wired on caffeine, sneaks out of his motel to find foodstuffs and clean unmentionables._

The young officer no longer stood watch outside the front door of his inn room. Abbie trusted him to stay put, and Captain Irving could no longer spare the men to guard him in any case.

Before she wended her way home, (where ever that might be) Abbie loaned him fifty American dollars. This initially struck him as an enormous sum, but a bit of calculation on the extravagance of the donut holes sobered him. A few meals if he was frugal. Not enough for proper clothing. Certainly not enough to secure a situation at a boarding establishment. He had no home. No source of income. No family to rely on as he learned his way. Charity was completely out of the question. Abbie's loan must be repaid as soon as possible. He must work, but he was still grasping so many changes. Everything was so different here!

Ichabod scowled. He was not used to feeling such disadvantage. How could he find work as a teacher dressed as he was now? He relied on Katrina, or his mother, to arrange the seamstresses or servants to sew, wash and mend his things. Machines did such things now he supposed, but he did not know how to find them, and indeed, how to work them.

He needed new garments. Ichabod stunk and he knew it.

He was used to living rough in the field, the sharp stink of blood, men's sweat and horse piss, but always surrounded by others in the same circumstances. He spent a few hours watching the talking box. It spoke of sweet mints to mask foul breath, or mists for making rooms fresh. Foul odors, apparently, were still a blight upon polite society.

Distracted by so many new smells - he could not even begin to name them all- such unfamiliarity disoriented him. He longed from the homey scent of stew and woodsmoke, or Katrina's hair which she washed in water scented with lemon verbena. Instead, in the offices of the sheriff, he recalled the rank musk of the cologne Det. Morales liberally sprinkled himself with, or the blue smoke from the cars, or the semi-familiar aroma of brewed coffee.

On his first night in the motel, guided by the yellow notes, he soaked himself and then his undergarments with water and the small bottle of amber coloured liquid soap. The flowery scent made him smile, and he recalled the expensive soap and perfume he gifted to Katrina on their first anniversary. It set him back a pretty penny then, but in this era, it appeared perfume was more common than dirt.

Now, after a few days of relearning basic hygiene, he was aware that his uniform smelled noticeably sour. People wrinkled their noses as he walked past. It frustrated him that he had no toilette items. No way to groom himself. He needed a shave. His toenails were a disgrace and were poking through the end of his ragged stockings. He wondered if there was a reasonable barber in the area or if men built machines for such needs.

A map of the town pinned up in the tiny lobby of the motel. He memorized it as the innkeeper stared darkly, then Ichabod wandered outside, marvelling again at the powerful streetlamps. They lit of their own accord, marvellously useful turning night into day! Taking careful note of his surroundings, he walked to Broadway hoping to find food, and perhaps a barber, despite the late hour.

He smelled cooking meat in the breeze and followed it. As he strolled he remained vigilant about crossing roads as Abbie instructed him. Red was stop and green was go for the wildly fast cars that sped past him. He took his cues from other pedestrians until he felt he understood the manner of such things.

He paused often to gaze into the store windows. A men's suit shop caught his attention. In the window stood large mannequins strangely dressed in the modern outfits Ichabod found gauche. He gazed around. Few of the men wore reasonable suits like the Captain. The women wore everything and nothing at the same time. Trousers on both ladies young and old, and often many wore such revealing outfits he could not help but stare. He ogled a woman wearing a shiny, tight shirt that only just fell past her buttocks. Her lips were slashed with matching bright red paint. Finally, she shouted at him, "Take a picture, ya pervert!" Ichabod flushed and hurried on.

The scent of meat battled with the stink of car fumes. He stopped in front of a steakhouse patio with a menu posted. He gawked at the prices. Prime rib dinner, $45? A pint of imported beer $8? Obscene! A line of tiny type at the bottom irked him. _Not including taxes and gratuity._

Ichabod moved on, his hands in empty pockets. He missed his linen handkerchief and gold pocket watch. Tiny familiar comforts. He paused in front of another sign that caught his attention. Pub. The posted menu promised a steak and kidney pie for $15. He chose a table downwind on the patio rather than one inside.

A thin, twitchy waitress dressed in snug black trousers and a green men's shirt eyeballed him, then mustered a tired smile as she came over to take his order. "Made it in just before closing," she commented unenthusiastically, eying his stained and rumpled jacket.

Ichabod detected a note of resignation. It was late. She wanted to go home. He posed an inconvenience.

"I apologise for the hour." Ichabod said genially. "Any chance of a steak and kidney pie?"

Her eyes brightened slightly at his accent."Mmm. They might be a bit dry by now, but let me check. Drink? The local cider is on special."

He smiled graciously. "That sounds a treat."

Her name was Bethani and she checked her phone constantly as she rambled on disapprovingly about the state of the country.

"Where can I find a tailor ?" he asked her, no longer interested in hearing about the mysterious Miley person and her outrageous 'twerking' activities. "and a barber. Preferably not too costly."

She blinked. "Oh. There's a few places if you drive-"

"Alas, I am on foot.

Bethani looked intently at her phone, her thin fingers a blur. "Lemme Google..."

_Google?_

He paid for the meal, and after being firmly instructed how to tip one's serving wench in America, Ichabod had only 23 dollars remaining of his loan from Abbie. He meandered back to his motel, thinking about the next seven years. It would be a long, bloody battle. War were costly. He would need to pay for weapons, clothes, foods How?

It would be the little things that made the difference. Any general feeding an army could attest to that.

He stopped in front of a dilapidated store filled with largish machines. A sign in front of it stated, _Tarrytown Laundromat. Open 24/7_. The machines were all similar. Inside a large woman and her male companion were pulling piles of clothing out of one. They stuffed it all into a shiny bag and left yawning, sparing only a short curious glance at him.

He entered, the strange scent of soap and dry sheets both pleasant and disconcerting. He read the notices tacked to a bulletin board. A car for sale, $15,000. Reward for a lost Persian cat. Professional essay writers. Bail Bondsmen. Nanny for hire. Pawnshops seeking gold for cash. The need for gold, Ichabod noted, had not changed.

He placed his hand on the warm metal of the dryer in sudden understanding. The instructions for the machines were printed on the lid. He peered at the coin slots and calculated. The devices were laundresses. He could wash and dry his clothing here! He glanced outside. Few people were on the street, yet he hesitated in stripping. He had money and could come back, but he longed to rid his garments for the stench of over two centuries of mustiness and grime.

A card board box sat in a dusty corner, the words UNCLAIMED CLOTHES scrawled on it. Ichabod peered inside, and smiled.

The Next Morning:

The coffee he had just brewed smelled heavenly as Abbie stared at him, aghast. A grin threatened to overtake her lips and she fought it so hard she was shaking.

"Are they not appropriate?"

"No. And I do NOT want to know where you got them. We need to take you shopping, like now. Put on your old clothes."

"The jacket is still yet damp. The drying machine took the money but did not perform as promised."

"Crane, there is NO way I am going to be seen on the street with you dressed like that."

"So these garments are not appropriate?"

"Hell no!" She wiped away a tear forming in her eye. "Nope. Not enough nope in the world to tell you how inappropriate you look."

"Many ladies I saw late last night were dressed quite revealingly and yet you find this inappropriate?"

"Crane... just get changed. I promise – I SWEAR - I will never speak of this."

Ichabod reluctantly pulled on his old damp clothing. They did smell much better. It was a warm day, they ought to dry fairly quickly. His old stockings, however, were beyond repair. He decided to retain the new stockings, even though they did not match in colour. Besides, they did not require garters. The undergarments he also decided to keep. He found them clean and well fitting, although he did wonder if Mr. Joe Boxer would be terribly inconvenienced by their loss.

He gazed at the strange trousers and the dark, glittery shirt he had purloined and now must abandon. Perhaps it was the reference to royalty on the shirt she found so appalling. He wondered if the royal family was still reviled in the colonies. Dressed once more in his military jacket and trousers, Abbie nodded at him in relief. "Much better. Trust me."

Ichabod sighed. "There is still much I do not understand, Miss Abbie."

Abbie tossed the unclaimed clothes into the waste bin, allowing her amusement to show. "Well, you are not built for yoga pants and you are certainly no Disco queen!"

"I shall defer to your sensibilities."

She regarded him again with an amused smile. "Actually, I prefer the Sergeant Pepper look on you."

"This Pepper is an honorable soldier, I pray. Was he American?"

"Oh lord... never mind."

Ichabod detected a strange note of despair in her voice.


End file.
